


A Father's Love

by what-is-a-fanfic-author (naxxerie)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Abandonment Issues, Child Abandonment, Child Abuse, Daddy Issues, Difficult Relationships, Gen, Pedophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:07:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26481649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naxxerie/pseuds/what-is-a-fanfic-author
Summary: What do we do when the devil has a key?When Michael got stood up by his girlfriend (probably his now ex-girlfriend), he came home to his father adoring a young child - which shouldn't come as a surprise since his father seemed more inclined to adopt 'lost' kids than being there for his son.Was his life really just a fucked up result of an age-old daddy issues or was there something more sinister hiding behind his father's serene face and black cross tattoo?
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! I need a bit of your support. Lately my laptop is refusing to cooperate and kept on crashing! ヽ(ｏ`皿′ｏ)ﾉ I couldn't even write shit in it without crashing every other hour, T_T
> 
> I desperately need this device to work on my thesis (and other creative works, 😉😏ya'll know what this means uwu).
> 
> But I'm lacking a bit on my funds to purchase a new one (╥_╥) (**lowkey contemplating selling my kidneys or blood or teeth or whatever shit that sells)
> 
> Any amount will immensely help. Please. (;´Д`)
> 
> Many thanks!!! (´∀｀)♡
> 
> Here is my ko-fi account: https://ko-fi.com/naxxerie
> 
> Here is my paypal address: aureadono@gmail.com
> 
> PS. If you're in my homeland, Philippines, kindly consider giving my online bookshop a visit 🙂 shopee.ph/bookmarked_store
> 
> PS. In turn, I will write a one shot with ANY prompt requested. Be it smut, fluff, angst, etc. Please. I really need help 。ﾟ(ﾟﾉД｀ﾟ)ﾟ｡

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Update! Edited some and added Father's name.

_Where is she?_

Michael had been sitting in the bench for almost an hour now. He and Fay agreed to meet yesterday, something about her wanting to tell him something ‘in person’. He had been on edge ever since that.

Fay refused his constant calls and texts. He has no idea what she wanted. Is she breaking up with him? Was it something he did? He looked back to their previous meetings and saw no reason for her to even _consider_ it. Fay was a difficult lady, Michael won’t deny that, having faults of her own—Molly, Benzos, Chalk, Bennies, Red dove—none of which comes cheap.

 _“There aren’t mine anyway,”_ Fay told him once, crumpling paper bills like they’re tissue papers. Her father owned a pharmaceutical company, so stealing prescriptive drugs were easy. The others she buys with daddy’s money.

He checked again his phone. Still no answer. He sighed and decided that he should just visit her later (even though Fay had forbidden him from doing so).

 _Well big fucking deal,_ she deserves that for making him wait.

Fay wasn’t in her house, nor do anyone knows where she is. So Michael went home instead.

He was greeted with Daniel, his father, and _another_ child in the living room. His father’s arms were around the child’s waist, kissing her cheeks and smiling adoringly. He rolled his eyes at the sickening image. He didn’t even remember his father hugging him as a child.

He grimaced and went to the kitchen instead. No point getting jealous over what looks like a six-year old child. He grabbed a can of coke.

“What’s up, son?” Daniel greeted him from the living room.

Michael clenched the can. _Like you would want to know._ “None of your business.”

Daniel merely laughed; head thrown back. The child remained quiet, almost stoic in his arms. Michael paused to glance at the child. Why isn’t she laughing? Usually, children loved it when adults adore them. He knew he would, _if_ his father ever dotted over him.

“Weren’t you meeting someone?” his father said, eyes twinkling with sudden interest.

Michael scowled at his father’s _acting_. He didn’t want his _pity._ “Who’s this?” he asked instead, pointing at the quiet child.

Daniel’s face brightened up – _literally._ His eyes shone with joy and his smile widened. “Oh _this_?” he tucked the child’s hair behind her ears and gave a soft kiss on her cheek. “This is Clarissa.”

Michael was confused to the way _Clarissa_ flinched upon the contact, like she was poked with a hot rod. She didn’t speak or look up after. She just… _sat_ there. If Michael didn’t know better, he would’ve mistaken her for a doll. With her wavy blonde hair done in twin ponytails and flowering thin white dress, she _did_ look like one.

“I’m going to find her a better place,” his father finished, pinching softly at the child’s cheeks.

Michael rolled his eyes and groaned. “So she’s another one of your _pet projects_?”

Daniel has always been the ‘upstanding’ citizen – went on a few trips in some poor country to volunteer as a teacher or whatever they needed. These past few weeks though, he had alleviated to ‘sheltering’ children before giving them to adoption centers – he isn’t sure _where_ though, just that one day there’s a child sleeping in his father’s bedroom and the next they’re gone. It was akin to taking in a dog found at the highway.

His father giggled – _fucking_ giggled and hugged the child tighter, “my favorite one so far. Tempting to keep her really,” he looked up and gave Michael an alluring smile, “what do you say? Fancy a little sister?”

Michael clenched the can, drenching his hand with coke. _What? So you could pretend to be a father to her?_

He grunted instead and went to the kitchen, hurling the can in the trash. That _prick._ His blood boiled on the thought of _another child_ getting his father’s limited attention. What’s so special about _Clarissa_ anyway? Why is she embraced and loved when he was not? His father never _hugged_ him, never tucked his hair, never kissed his cheeks – hell, he doesn’t even remember his father calling him a _son_. 

Suddenly, it’s getting harder to breath, like the walls are closing in on him. The air was suffocating, the image of his father and the child burned against his eyelids. He couldn’t stay on this house. He needed a break.

He grabbed his jacket and went outside, slamming the door on his way out. _Fuck you Dan. And fuck you Clarissa._

He called Fay again.

Still no answer.

Michael came back to an empty house. A sudden chill creeped on his spine. His blood ran cold. He shivered. He looked around—the kitchen, the living room—he tried to hear if there was someone upstairs and there was _none._ It wasn’t the first time that he was greeted with silence. Since his father seemed unable to swallow the sight of his _son_ , he was often away when Michael comes back – either from school or from his numerous ‘trip’ with Fay.

Yet, every time—every _fucking_ time—he came home to an empty house, he still panics.

 _Breathe, Michael. In. Out. Come on, breathe with me…_ Fay’s angelic voice echoed in his head, guiding him. She knew every aspect of him – the little good and the monstrous ugly. She understood what it was like to grow up alone, to eat alone, to starve for affection.

Misery do love company.

 _We’ve got ourselves,_ Fay’s words were the only thing that he holds into. It was during one of their special ‘trips’, they were laid on a simple blanket that she brought, side by side, her hands enveloping his. Their foreheads rested upon each other. A soft promise whispered in the stillness of the night. _You and me, Michael,_ she said, her eyes reflecting nothing but honesty.

_We’ve got ourselves._

Michael closed his eyes and willed his tears to dry. He was being stupid. He should _know_ better. People come and go, that’s just life. People come but they never _stay._ They will feed you _stupid_ , bullshit _promises_ , saying that they are your friend, your family, your lover – You’re not alone anymore, Michael, I will always be here—

_Fucking bullshit._

No one stays. No one bothers to stay. Michael has always been alone. He slept alone. He ate alone. He dresses alone. Alone. Alone. Alone—

He banged his fist on the table, rattling a glass on it. Daniel’s favorite mug. His blood boiled within his veins. His sight darkened. His thoughts hammering in his head. He wanted an _out._ He wanted to bang his fist against flesh, see blood trailing down from someone’s face, see someone’s eyes widened with fear, hear the sickening crunch of bones. He wanted to satisfy his thirst for violence—

He hurled the glass on the nearest wall—it shattered, its shards falling over the ground.

_WHERE ARE YOU?!_

A sudden cry. Childish. Small.

It was there. And suddenly it’s gone.

Michael’s anger simmered immediately, replaced with curiousity _._ It sounded near. Almost like it was from the room next door.

He stepped over the shards and went towards the living room—empty. He went to his father’s room—there was his travel suitcase opened on the bed, with some of his clothes effortlessly thrown inside. Michael swallowed the aching longing.

It’s not like he hadn’t asked— _begged_ his father before to take him on his trips before. He tried to be a good son – performed his best in schools, cleaned the house, drew silly family drawings of him, his father, and the mother he never knew. But it all ended up the same.

Him sitting in the dining room. A party hat on his head. A cake with a candle in front of him. And an empty chair for his father.

 _Dad_ didn’t even bother attending his son’s birthday party. _I forgot. I’m sorry, I’ll try again next year—_

But his father never did.

Michael shook his head—there it was, another cry. This time it was followed by a thud. His steps became more frantic. Where was that coming from?

He checked the nearest bathroom, his own room, and another closet—before noticing the ajar basement door, when it should be _locked_. There hadn’t pass a day in his life when that door is _ever_ open. Years ago, out of curiosity and some teenage rebellion, he tried to lockpick the door. Before he could finish, his father appeared out of nowhere and beaten him for trying.

He learnt to stay away after that.

Even now, his feet were hesitant to step closer on the door, as if any moment, his father would come out of the corner and punish him again, with eyes burning with much hatred. The only other emotion his father gave him beside his cool indifference.

He heard a grunt downstairs and another cry.

His curiosity got the better of him. He grabbed the door, opening it only slightly to squeeze himself in. The basement was barely lit. He tried to soften his steps as to not alert whoever burglar is inside. His fists clenched upon the thought. A burglar is someone that he _needs_ right now—probably a first when his violence will be justified.

_She was a beauty. Probably even prettier than the wife that bore him a child._

_Her skin was soft against his calloused hands. Her eyes were the perfect mixture of blue and green. Her voice was almost heavenly, an alluring melody to his ears._

_He wanted her. Everything that she could offer._

_He licked her cheeks, tasting her sweat. It was as sweet as a white chocolate. He kissed her neck, ravishing her smooth skin. He sucked at that tiny space below her right ears. He felt her shivered. He grinned. She’s loving it, wanting him._

_Perfection. She was perfection._

_He caressed her thighs and gripped the teasing fabric—her panty. He could fear her squirm, teasing him. She had such a playful personality. He laughed and kissed her. “I know,” he assured her. His finger began to trail circles around her burning essence, pinching her clitoris. “I know,” he snickered, licking away the trail of tears cascading down her cheeks._

_It was her first. It was understandable. They always cry._

_But that makes it more erotic._

_“I’ll make you feel good, baby,” he said as he slid a finger between her folds, groaning as the muscle welcomed him like its master. It was still tight, even with the constant training that he had given her earlier. It’s better though, the tightness makes all the difference._

_She yelped. He hushed him rapidly with a hand over her mouth. She could be feisty, he knew. She reminded her so much of his dead wife._

_He kissed her eyes and gently slid down her panty. This might be the last time that he could taste her. That she could taste_ him. _So he’ll make it good. He unbuckled his pants and placed her hands above his cock. “Do it,” he commanded, “like I taught you.” He could feel her hesitate before her hand gripped his. She moved in a slow manner, her hand trailing his quickly hardening dick. It never fails to excite him when she does – when any of them does._

_But hers was the perfect fit. Her hand was so soft, so smooth against his dick, like a silk brushing against his member. He couldn’t help but to kiss her as a thanks. He explored her insides for another minute before deciding that she was prepared enough._

_He was always that considerate._

_“Come on, baby,” he whispered as he aligns his dick against her. She squirmed and playfully try to get away. “Such a tease,” he kissed her again and gripped her fit waist, forcing her in the correct place. “Now be a good girl—” with one breathe, he pushed his dick inside of her._

_She cried in surprised._

_He ignored her._

_She was so_ fucking _tight—it was amazing! Her muscles clenched and unclenched, as if confused and undecided if it wanted to accommodate the intrusion or not. But he didn’t let it deter him. He pushed himself in-and-out, a memorized pattern. Her cries were like a siren’s song in his ears, begging him. Yes! Take me!_

_He groaned as he felt her virgin blood pouring out from her vagina and coating his dick. That was always the best part. He licked her neck and kissed her cries. He pushed himself harder, quickly falling into a faster rhythm._

_Take me! Take me!_

“Dad?!” Michael screamed as he used his taller body to shove Daniel away from _someone._ He didn’t even pause to think – to _understand_ \- what was happening in front of him. He just knew that it wasn’t _right._ He saw as his father stumbled on the other side of the room, dazed as he came down from his sexual euphoria. He then looked towards—

 _Clarissa_?!

Dear _Gods_ , she was bleeding. Her eyes were wide open. She was shaking. And she was crying. He quickly removed his jacket and threw it over her, to cover her innocence – _what innocence_? She was just raped!

“What the _fuck_ Dan?!” his mind was reeling with questions. What the _fuck_ just happened. How could he—why is he—

He tried to understand, to wrap his head around why his father, _why someone_ , would even do that—Clarissa was six—SIX years old?! She doesn’t look even old enough to attend school.

He tried to wipe away her tears but she flinched and cried louder as soon as he sat near. She was rapidly saying words he couldn’t understand. “It’s okay. I’m not—I won’t hurt you,” he tried to console her but she shook her head and pulled her knees closer to her body. It’s only then that he noticed that her hands were tied behind her.

He was about to untie her when he heard Daniel laughed. “Oh, Mic,” he sat, his dick limp and covered in blood, “you’re always such a disappointment.” There was a vile smile on his face.

Michael’s body grew rigid. It was the first time that he heard his father call him that. Usually it was always implied through his cold stares, his absences, and his lack of attempt to be a _father_ to him. But now, it was worded out it felt too much like a sealed fate, closing the lid on any attempt of Michael to hope that his father _could_ ever see him as anything more than a nuisance.

“If I had known you’ll turn like this, I should’ve given you up long ago,” he spat at him. His father then turned instead to the child, “at least Clarissa could give me something.”

Michael’s blood boiled. “That’s it?!” He stood up and strangled his father’s body between his thighs. He punched him. Again. And Again. “You’re fucking sick!” he screamed at his face. What gives his father the right to use that child? Was that the reason why he couldn’t treat him like a _son?_ Because he couldn’t use a _son_ to do what he wanted?!

Michael left his father with a bloodied and an almost unrecognizable face. He could feel his adrenaline depleting. He walked towards the child, removing the tie behind her and fixing her white, now almost red, dress. He then wrapped his jacket around her.

He heard his father coughed out blood and heaved. “You know, I promised some guys that I would give them a girl.”

“You disgust me.” Michael spat with unrestrained hatred. He could care less whatever those guys would do to him. Castrate him? Beat him? Rape him? Kill him? The Devil burned in the pit for his sins, let Daniel burn for _his_.

“So if not her, then I could hand them your _girlfriend_ instead,” Daniel slowly sat, blood drips down from his bruised and broken nose. But it didn’t make his smile less threatening.

“What?” Michael’s heart stopped beating. His father had never met Fay. How could he _know?_

“Fay might be older but she got the parts right,” Daniel snickered.

The phone in his pocket suddenly felt heavier. Fay wasn’t in her house. Michael checked. But that couldn’t be—Daniel shouldn’t even know her _name_ yet he spoke as if he had met her personally over tea.

“You’re supposed to meet her right? She got there early. _Too_ early.”

In an instant, Michael was at his father’s side, gripping his shirt tight. “Where is she?!” he screamed at him. He couldn’t risk it, even if his father was bluffing. He needed to know.

“Soon, somewhere—better,” his father spat blood.

Michael grunted then punched him. “Where is Fay?!”

“Make a choice. Your Fay or Clarissa? Can’t meet the guys emptyhanded,” his father said with a grin deadlier than a Cheshire cat. He spoke as if he was asking Michael to choose between water or coke.

There was a rattling behind them. Michael turned around and saw Clarissa on her feet, half running half crawling towards the stairs. She was shaking, as if her body couldn’t stand on its own.

“Looks like she’s making the choice for you. You fucking _coward_.”

_Fay stood before him, with her emerald eyes and dyed red hair seemingly burning against the darkened room._

_“Fay,” he called his name, like a prayer of a dying man in a church desperate for repentance. He walked closer to her. But she stepped away from him. “Babe, what’s wrong?” he tried to grab her hand but she flinched and angled her body away from him. “Fay—”_

_She screamed at him._

_He stepped back. He could feel tears forming, his throat getting dry, why is she—_

_She moved away. Step. Step. And then she was running away from him. From their promise._

_LIAR!_

_Before she could take another step, he grabbed her hand and dragged her towards him. She lost her footing and fell, taking him with her. He grabbed her hands above her head and pinned her with his weight. “You promised!”_

_He kissed her hard to remind her of their shared understanding. She bit his mouth and screamed at him._

_He grabbed her red hair and gripped it tight. “You can’t leave!” he screamed, banging her head against the ground. She must remember! She must remember what he promised. “We’ve got ourselves, Fay, remember?” he was openly crying now, his tears mixing with hers. “You promised.”_

_But Fay wouldn’t stop crying. He wanted her to stop. He wanted her to remember._

_Then Fay stopped. She stopped crying. And she stopped breathing._

_Michael’s eyes widened when he saw the life fade away from her eyes. “Fay?” it was then that he noticed hands around her throat._

His hands on her small throat. Michael’s tears blinked away his tears—and gasped when he saw Clarissa’s frail body underneath him.

“Wha—” he stared at his hands.

_We’ve got ourselves._

What had he done? He just—

He could hear his father’s laughter echoing around. Like the devil mocking Job as he lost his entire family—his entire _life_ to a God that never listened, never cared, never loved _his_ son—

What had he done? He just—

He gripped his head and screamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For your curiosity,
> 
> Benzos – Benzodiazepines/Rophynol (psychoactive drug)  
> Molly – MDMA/Ecstasy (psychoactive drug)  
> Chalk – Methamphetamine (central nervous system stimulant)  
> Bennies – Amphetamine (central nervous system stimulant)  
> Red dove - Synthetic Stimulants/Bath Salts (recreational designer drugs)


	2. A Father's Lullaby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The unexpected meeting between Michael's father and Fay.

_**A Father’s Lullaby** _

_“They know.”_

Two words that halted his world. His grip on his phone tightened. He glared at his half-finished lunch, suddenly losing appetite. “I understand,” he forced the words out of his mouth. It was like admitting defeat.

And he doesn’t like losing.

A dial-up merely answered him back. He stared at his phone. He didn’t know what he did wrong, he followed what he had always done, he had been careful, perhaps too careful. Did someone tip him off? He made sure that there wasn’t anyone near when he took the child, he _knew_ that there shouldn’t be anyone – no cameras, no distinct mark on him, on his car. He had even gone great lengths to stalk the family for three months – memorizing their schedule as if it was his. He took care of _everything._

So how did they know?

He lifted the half-eaten bacon and eggs on his plate and threw it by the trash. He pocketed his cigarettes, his wallet—he paused. He took out a blank card from it, eyeing the hastily scrawled numbers at the back. He dialed it.

“I’m cashing out on that favor.”

He was on his way to the usual children’s park that he frequents for almost a week now. He does his best not to dwell too much on the predictive pattern but something about the almost empty park just calls to him.

And today, that call was on point.

He smirked as he saw the lone lady sitting on the bench. She was hunched over her phone, earphones both on her ears and a cigarette on her lips. He casually walked towards her. “Fay?”

Fay looked up. Her green eyes meeting his dark brown ones. Her eyes were filled with distrust…but also mild recognition like she wouldn’t think twice about hitting him, but she’ll definitely feel sorry afterward.

“I’m Michael’s dad,” he introduced himself, flashing his best smile and extending his right hand.

Recognition finally dawned on hers, she stood up and shook his hand. “Fay,” she repeated her name, “I’m sorry, Michael never introduced me to you.”

He laughed as if she just told a joke. “Yeah, I believe he didn’t.” He knew though why Michael never did, even though he never spent an hour with his son doesn’t mean that he did not understand how his little mind works. It was pathetic, really. How his son tried his best to get his attention. He never had that much care as a child to his father.

Michael probably got that attitude from her mother’s side.

Ah, my poor Chiquita. Clarissa really reminded her of him, with her petite structure, silky white skin, blue eyes, and blonde hair. Though, his wife was two years older.

People always say that a woman of eight years was too young to bear a child. If they are, then why aren’t they too young to fuck? His wife accepted him, loved him as he had never been loved before. And he returned her love tenfold, treasured her until her last breath.

_And they call him a monster._

“May I sit with you?” He flashed her an honest smile, the same one that he used to charm any of his victim’s parents and/or guardians. The smile that screams _trust me, I won’t hurt you._ It never failed to work. And he doubted that it would fail on hers too.

Surprisingly, she hesitated. She glanced down at the bench and bit her lips.

He patiently waited for her to make a decision. His patience was what works best with his prey after all. Children adore a man that is patient. A man who _listens_. A man who _plays_ with them. A man who could _take care_ of their needs.

And boy, did he master all those.

After what felt like a thirty-second’s consideration, Fay finally sat down. “Uh, sure.”

He smiled and sat beside her, closing in on their distance. He could feel her warmth against his skin. And the flinch she did when she realized that this man does not follow any social boundaries.

He went to his pocket and pulled out a cigarette. He pretended not to find his lighter and shyly asked her for a light. She hesitated for a second before grabbing one on her backpack. He took a quick glimpse of her, deduced if she had any possible weapon concealed in her bag.

He was satisfied when he found none. “Here,” she said as she handed her lighter. He gave a polite smile before lighting his stick. He returned the light. “I didn’t know you smoke,” she said, with a small smirk.

“Oh, why?” he asked, faking interesting.

“Well, I don’t know,” she turned away, looking back at the empty park, “Michael kinda painted you like—a priest or something. He said you volunteer often in some poor countries. Always _gone_ helping,” she looked like she wanted to say something more but decided at the last minute not to. She took another drag of her cigarette.

“Did he also tell you I’m a dick?” He asked, good-heatedly.

She looked shocked before shaking her head. She snickered, “it was implied, though.”

He took a drag of his cigarette. “Yeah, well, I’ve not been the best father to him,” he forced his voice to sound sorrowful as if he _truly_ regrets not being there for Michael. He moved his mouth to a concerned frown. He lifted down his collar and showed her his black cross tattoo. “I made a vow before I had him,” he told her, a story he had crafted, “I couldn’t break it even for him.”

Her eyes softened. She may be a rebellious daughter to his equally absent wealthy father, but he knew that this chick is as broken as his own son. It’s funny really, how he could see Michael in her. _Oh, woe us, daddy isn’t there to hug us when we cry._

Boo-fucking-hoo.

She startled when her phone suddenly rang. He peeked and saw that it was Michael calling her. She was about to answer when he grabbed her wrist, halting her finger from sliding the answer button. She looked at him, alarm bells flashing in her eyes.

He tutted, “I don’t think its best for Michael to know we’ve met.”

She opened her mouth, a question already in her lips.

When someone from behind covered her mouth with a cloth. Her eyes widened, and she tried to fight the man off, dropping her phone in the process.

He kicked it away and held down both of her hands. Five. Four. Three—

Her eyes slid closed. And she fell lip on the bench. The man behind carried her bridal style to the waiting van on the side of the road.

He looked around. Predictably, the park remained empty. No cameras to tip them off too. Seriously, who in their right mind decided to build a park here anyway? It was just _too_ easy taking people off in here. And if this isn’t his favorite place, he would’ve long since used this as a _feeding_ ground.

He picked up her phone from the ground and smirked as he saw Michael and Fay’s face on the background. Oh, young love.

With great satisfaction, he clicked the end call button.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment below what you think :)

**Author's Note:**

> Official playlist: 😊 
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/user/7ml96xjxm19m6fm6q5qja7dyj/playlist/7i2VbJhg6vYFBTg7GvFe3R?si=tx-ezVzAR6uThJFGhbb67w
> 
> (playlist title: michael's fall from grace)


End file.
